BLUE BURNS ORANGE

[DAEMON CARTER]

WITH HIS HANDS JAMMED IN HIS POCKETS, he scowled over the photograph of his parents. In the glass he could see his vague reflection, the messy hair, the deathly stare, the gauged ears and tattoos, eyeliner still smudged under his eyes from the night before. He was everything that they had feared. They had practically paid him to get out of their lives. Daemon felt the seething anger welling up in his chest, and his lips contorted into a grimace of pure disgust. Truth be told, he really didn’t know if it was his parents that disgusted him for not accepting him, or if it was himself who he was disgusted by. With a fast swipe he knocked the photograph off of the bookcase with the back of his hand. It flew across the room; smashing into the wall, shattering, and landing face down. A grim smile spread across his face, “Fuck you.” the words came out as a snarl as he snatched his car keys and headed out; slamming the door behind him.

THE SLICK BMW WAS READY AND WAITING. He slid in easily, jamming his iPod into the docket and hitting play. The sound of Dance Gavin Dance roared with the engine as he pulled out of the driveway and sped down the street. The harder he pushed down on the accelerator, the faster his worries left him. Soon the car was squealing around each bend and attracting a few astonished glances. Daemon’s cold eyes were set on the road ahead of him, the rather desolate one that led out of Stanford. He was slightly aware of the flashing red sign in front of him that indicated his lack of petrol, but he, like the careless person he was, flat out ignored it. He raced on for about twenty more minutes, until his anger finally fizzled out, and left him a few miles away from home. He slowed, letting out a shaky sigh and running his fingers through his dark hair. Time to head back… The boy pursed his lips and made a sharp U-turn. The trip back took a little longer, and he opened the window up and let the wind flow through his hair, his elbow resting on the frame. It was about nine fifteen in the morning. On a usual day Daemon would probably still be sleeping, but thanks to the fact that he’d done fuck all last night, he’d woken up early for once in his life. Judging by the way things were going he sure as hell wasn’t going to do it again any time soon. That was for sure.

STANFORD'S ENGLISH STYLED BUILDINGS WERE ONCE AGAIN in sight, he closed the window half way and lit himself a cigarette as he entered town, throwing the empty box out onto the street. Traffic was dying down, since everyone was probably at work or school already, that was a good thing, since Daemon was pretty prone to road rage and he was already in a semi-shitty mood. So anyone who pissed him off now was going to regret it dearly. Making a spur of the moment decision, he pulled into the parking lot at the park, got out of the car and, once again, slammed the door shut. He trudged towards the nearest hot dog vendor and yanked out his wallet. “Do you sell cigarettes?” The man behind the stall looked shocked. “Um, well no –” Daemon cut him off. “Do you smoke?” The man simply nodded, not willing to speak again. “I’ll buy your cig’s then.” He pushed a few bills towards the vendor, way more than anyone would ever pay for cigarettes. The man gave the money one look and handed Daemon his fags, smiling and beginning to count the money as Demon walked away.

ALMOST IMMEDIATELY HE HAD A CIGARETTE BETWEEN his lips, he raised his lighter to ignite it and took a deep breath in, letting his eyes shut with pleasure for a few brief seconds as the smoke filled his lungs. He recalled the first time he’d felt that burning sensation. Looking back it was rather funny, remembering all the coughing and spluttering and what not. Now he was addicted to the shit. And there was pretty much nothing he wanted to do about it. It wasn’t like he was worried about dying or whatever. Sure, it would suck if he got cancer, but he’d get over it, though sometimes he questioned that, seeing as he couldn’t even go five hours without lighting one up. Speaking about addictions, he hadn’t had a good strong drink in like two days, and that was seriously bumming him out. Demon was the kind of guy who would drink twenty four seven if he had the company. But as it turns out, he was pretty much the only person who would do so… Always first in the bar and always the last one out too.

HE SAT DOWN ON ONE OF THE benches overlooking the lake. A little kid was sitting there too, and the moment he sat down the kid looked up, then pulled a disgusted face as he noticed the cigarette. “My mommy says smoking is digusting.” Demon laughed, more of a irritated scoff though. “Disgusting? You should see what me and your mommy get up to when your daddy isn’t around. You have no clue what disgusting is, kid.” Taken aback, the boy got up and bolted straight back to wherever the hell he had come from. Daemon smirked to himself as he took the last drag of his cigarette and flicked the butt into the lake. Looking around, he sighed. There was hardly anyone here, save for the kid he’d just scared away who was yanking on his mothers dress and pointing wildly in his direction. Demon took one look at the woman and turned around, not bothered and uninterested in what her reaction was going to be. He put both arms behind his head and leant back. “What a boring fucking day…”

WORDS. 1 005
TAG. no one... yet
MOOD. irritable
LISTENING TO. Dance Gavin Dance
STATUS. Open to anyone